


if I only could

by kiyala



Category: Marvel
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, M/M, Rebound Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-05
Updated: 2012-07-05
Packaged: 2017-11-09 05:52:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/452068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the fifth day in a row that Tony’s shown up to the lab reeking of alcohol. Peter knows, because it’s the fifth day in a row that he’s been here too, trying to work on his own project. It’s also the fifth day since Tony and Steve’s messy, hastily covered-up split.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if I only could

It’s the fifth day in a row that Tony’s shown up to the lab reeking of alcohol. Peter knows, because it’s the fifth day in a row that he’s been here too, trying to work on his own project. It’s also the fifth day since Tony and Steve’s messy, hastily covered-up split. Steve’s actually moved out of Avengers Mansion; Peter doesn’t know where. He isn’t even sure if Tony does.

Tony settles heavily on the stool beside him and pulls his sunglasses down just enough to squint over them. “Show me what you’ve got, Parker.”

Even through the haze of alcohol, Tony’s smarter than anyone else Peter has had the opportunity to work with—smarter than anyone else Peter has ever _met_ —and he follows along with Peter’s explanation without a problem. There are countless simulations to run through before Peter has enough data and Tony accompanies him through all of them. 

Peter knows that there’s probably work that Tony is avoiding. There are probably also thoughts of Steve that Tony is avoiding, so he says nothing. Just like he says nothing about the flask that Tony sips from frequently throughout the day. When he can ignore… everything else, it’s nice to have Tony Stark paying this close attention to his work, to _him_. They’ve had moments like this before, in Tony’s private workshop when they’ve gotten carried away with their equations and designs, only to be called away for Avengers missions. Peter’s never spent an entire week with Tony watching over his shoulder, his presence distracting even when he’s being quiet.

It’s been a very trying week.

By the time Peter’s satisfied with the data gathered from his simulations, night has already fallen. He glances around the lab, realising that everyone else has left. It’s just him and Tony, leaning against the opposite bench and watching him with an unreadable expression. 

“Uh…” Peter doesn’t know what to say, whether he should leave, or even if he _wants_ to. 

Tony makes the decision for him, striding across the small space and crowding against him. 

“Oh. Okay, then.”

Tony’s hands rest on the desk, on either side of Peter, and the alcohol on his breath might not be as strong as before, but it’s definitely still there. If Peter was to say that he wasn’t expecting this, he would be lying. If Peter was to say that he didn’t want this, he’d be lying even more.

Still, he places a hand on Tony’s shoulder, applying just enough pressure to stop him from coming any closer. “You’re drunk right now. And you’re missing Steve. I’m… not Steve.”

“I know that, Peter.” Tony’s fingers brush against Peter’s sides, too light to be anything close to what he really wants. “But you’re the one who’s put up with me all week. You could’ve told me to leave, that you needed to focus on your work. But you didn’t.”

Peter laughs, shaking his head at the very thought of telling Tony Stark what to do. He drops his hand to his side and takes a quick breath when Tony presses in closer, his breath warm on Peter’s neck. 

“This is a really bad idea,” Peter murmurs. “This is just a rebound, and when you fix things with Captain America, we’re going to pretend this didn’t happen.”

“Just tell me to stop,” Tony whispers, his hands on Peter’s hips, “and I’m out of here.”

Peter doesn’t say a thing. He’ll take what he can get. 

Tony kisses Peter’s neck first, almost gentle before he kisses his way up to Peter’s mouth, sucking and biting. Tony is no different here than he is with any other aspect of his life; he knows exactly what he wants, and takes it. He sweeps the papers on Peter’s desk aside with one hand, lifting him up to sit on the edge while making sure not to break their kiss. 

Pushing Peter’s thighs apart, Tony steps between them, running his hands up them and to the fly of his pants. Peter’s already embarrassingly hard; being fucked in a lab by Tony has been one of his long-standing fantasies and his mind is still struggling to process the fact that it’s actually _happening_.

Tony chuckles, his mouth hot on Peter’s neck as he sucks marks onto it. His fingers are nimble as they undo the buttons on Peter’s shirt, the zip of his fly. Peter’s are slower, tentative as they undo Tony’s jacket. His fingers stop entirely when he sees the glow of the arc reactor beneath Tony’s shirt.

“It’s fine,” Tony murmurs, gently brushing Peter’s hands aside to unbutton his own shirt. He kisses Peter deeply, fingers brushing over his cheek. “It’s fine.”

It’s really not. It’s obvious in Tony’s eyes, in his voice, that he’s going to regret this later. But it’s not enough to make him stop; it isn’t enough to make Peter stop either.

Peter isn’t even surprised by the condoms or packs of lube in Tony’s pants pocket. He’s silent, biting his lip as Tony stretches him open with slick fingers, peppering kisses on his sweaty forehead and murmuring encouragement. He watches as Tony lines himself up, thrusting in bit by bit. He digs his fingers into Tony’s shoulders as he’s steadily fucked. Tony isn’t overly gentle with him; he buries his face in Peter’s neck, grip on his hips possessive. 

Getting one hand around his own dick, Peter swears roughly, arching off the desk. He wraps his legs around Tony even tighter, wordlessly urging him on. 

“So fucking flexible,” Tony groans, picking up his pace. Peter knows the way Tony’s mind works well enough to know the cogs are already turning to think of the best way to _use_ this flexibility later, and the thought is enough to have him coming with a low moan.

“Peter,” Tony gasps against his skin, following soon after. He doesn’t move for a long moment, taking several deep breaths before finally getting up. “ _Peter_.”

Perhaps Tony is just reminding himself that this _isn’t_ Steve. Peter can’t quite bring himself to care. He can’t compete against Steve Rogers; that just isn’t possible. He can’t help who he is, and he can’t help if it he’s just Tony’s rebound fuck. 

What he _can_ do is memorise the way Tony looks at him, his eyes softer than anything Peter expects; the way his name sounds when Tony says it quietly; the warm hands trailing over his skin, half proprietary, half apologetic.

Peter might not get much, but he gets this. It will have to do.


End file.
